Improvisation
by used romance
Summary: DRABBLE The problem with improvisation is that you need to move when the music does. You don’t waltz to swing, and you sure as hell don’t head towards your last one-night stand when you see him on some blond man’s arm.


**Author's Note: **So I've been binging on fanfics by **remuslives23**, whose drabbles are 1000 words or less. I can't do less than 100, so I'm taking on her specifications of a drabble. I had to strip it a bit but -- so now it's 997 words. I'm quite proud.

Oh, and I'm proud (and slightly tentative) to introduce my first Original Male Character, Garrett. His name used to be Gregory, but I had forgotten that's Goyle's name. Ew.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from these works.

**Warnings: **mild slash

**Summary: **The problem with improvisation is that you need to move when the music does. You don't waltz to swing, and you sure as hell don't head towards your last one-night stand when you see him on some blond man's arm.

**Improvisation **

He knew tonight would be an odd one. You don't just spend twelve hours in a dance studio only to go home, change clothes, and head out to a nightclub. He hadn't imbibed any suspicious drinks, he hadn't hit his head lately, he just --

He just moved naturally into the city streets, a dance he needn't be conscious of, only one he had to feel. Improvisation.

The problem with improvisation is that you need to move when the music does. You don't waltz to swing, and you sure as hell don't head towards your last one-night stand when you see him on some blond man's arm.

This wasn't normal for Garrett. He had come here yesterday because he was stressed and it was nice, the frantically sensual movements, the many uncoordinated troupes dispersed among each other, a break from the learned (but no less beautiful) harmonization he worked through daily. He had gone with the man because he was drunk and lonely. Really. It had nothing to do with how his green eyes glowed in the dark corner of the club, or how his lips felt when they kissed, or how he applied _just_ enough pressure on his neck with his teeth.

"Harry," he said from a few feet away, just for the sake of hearing the name again, or maybe to remind himself (as if he didn't chant it last night), but even from the distance, when his call should have been lost in the ocean of noise, the green eyes darted from the blond's face to Garrett's. Harry's eyes were narrowed as if in anger, but he didn't look at Garrett directly, as if in shame.

The blond (who wore all white and his shoulder-length hair loose as if he never had to worry about getting any vomit on his pants or in his hair because he was probably raised to hold his liquor better than Garrett ever could, the fucker) saw Garrett and pressed his hand to Harry's, moving to the bar with a raised eyebrow and an air of _Ibarelytolerateyou._ Harry weaved through the crowd fluidly, not stopping for Garrett, just leading/dragging him by his arm back to the door and to the chilly outside air.

Harry slammed Garrett against the uneven brick wall (memories brushed against his mind teasingly -- fervent groping, hurried passion) and he held Garrett's face with one hand, held his hip with the other. His hair, which always made it seem that Harry had just been ravished, just begged to be grasped to press his face closer.

"Why did you come tonight?"

There was no reprimand in his voice, but the slight desperation startled Garrett.

"Wh-- Excuse me?" He realized that this meeting was what he had unconsciously planned for all along. Somehow, he had known Harry would be in the club, and that they'd end up together -- but it was all wrong because it sounded as if Harry _didn't_ want him there, or at all.

And there was the fall in the improvised dance that Garrett just couldn't recover from. The self-assuredness he wore like a cloak failed him here and left him exposed.

"Don't come back here," Harry ordered, his eyes lit with that anger again and hands more forceful.

Garrett tried to break from his grasp, clutched the man's impossibly strong wrists but couldn't remove them.

"_Listen_," Harry suddenly begged, his grip relaxing as he buried his face in Garrett's neck, nosed the wild pulse. "I can't explain to you just yet how _important _this is, but try to listen: Don't come back, because this is where I'll keep looking for you."

He drew back to lock eyes with Garrett, wide and earnest. "Don't give me something to find."

Maybe it was their pulses syncing with the pounding bass, or the heat of their bodies pressed together -- one minute, he was staring at Harry, waiting for the man to recant all he had said, trying to find a strand of sense, familiarity, the barest hint of music -- the next, their lips were pressed against each other, Garrett's hips grinding against Harry's, mindless of the stares and leers of those who noticed them in the shadows.

When they broke, their gasps were louder than the beat of the music inside, and once again, Garrett stumbled.

"Garrett," he closed his eyes at the sound of his name (whisperedmoanedshouted). "Go, darling, go."

He opened his eyes, but Harry was gone.

Maybe… maybe there had been something in his water?

He pushed himself from the wall, ran a hand from his lips down to his thigh, the one Harry had trapped between his legs when --

_Go._

Yes, he really should. The music was fading, but there was no strength in him left to dance anyway.

"I'm starved, Lucius," he muttered under the noise.

"Are you telling me because you would have that wraith -- _Garrett -- _satiate you?"

Even as he asked in a biting tone, Lucius crooked his finger to beckon the woman he was talking to while Harry dealt with Garrett. Together, the three left the club and turned into a barren alleyway reeking of garbage and piss, streetlights on either end dim -- Harry sneered; if she hadn't figured out that she was in danger yet, she deserved death anyway.

They left her with her neck broken and bite mark sealed.

"You want him for more than just physical satisfaction," he accused.

"I don't," Harry lied. When Lucius stared down at him disbelievingly, he tried, "I love _you._"

"I don't doubt that," he murmured gently, "But I also don't doubt that you would change him into one of us."

"I've done as you asked! Isn't that enough?"

"Only if you think it is. But you know as well as I that if you wanted, you'd be able to find him wherever he is. You knew when I changed you it would be this way."

"Then it has to be enough."


End file.
